The Straight and Narrow

There's no denying it — it's comforting to know that Sam is a Rules Follower through and through. "Strait is the gate and narrow is the way which leadeth unto life," said Matthew, and if there was ever a kid who lived his life on the straight and narrow, it's Sam. As far as we can tell, his moral compass has never led him to consider breaking a rule or even fudging a guideline. That puts his parents in an enviable position, I know.

But where will it leave his friends, I wonder? And when will Sam realize that those who live in the grey scale won't always appreciate his black & white perspective? Especially when he acts on it by taking a stand against them.

Well I remember learning those harsh lessons myself through my school years. When I was in grade 2, I tattled to the yard duty teacher about a few grade 8 boys who were smoking in the back corner. She named her informant and — during the very next recess — I was threatened (held up dangling against the brick wall) to mind my own business. Wasn't school yard smoking everybody's business? It's against The Rules. (In my upset, I wished ill will towards that duty teacher and she was struck and killed by a car right in front of the school later that month. For a while, I was terrified of my unearthly powers.)

A few years later, in grade 7, I didn't hesitate to name the offenders who basically threw a ticker tape parade in our classroom when the teacher was called away to the office. I didn't care what those dumb boys thought of me, but it never crossed my mind that Tobi Boland (crush) would brand me a snitch and avoid speaking to me for what felt like 300 years. Even my girlfriends rolled their eyes at me. I ratted out boys. I remember thinking, "What is wrong with you people? We're good. They're bad. Why should we all get in trouble?"

So far, Sam is negotiating minor league family politics. He tells on his cousins, yes — but for whatever reason no one has called him on it. Maybe because they've grown up alongside the boy who played cop to their robbers. Check this out... (May 2005 - 25 months)

It's kind of handy, to be honest, to know that the boys won't get up to any trouble without a full report from my hall monitor of a son. He double checks in person (not trusting a mere shout out from the kitchen) that yes, they can watch four pre-approved song parodies on YouTube. If a fifth one is loaded, down comes Sam. "Is it alright if...?" He's like walking, talking Parental Controls. It's awesome. And when there is a squabble, Sam can usually be counted on to provide an impartial play-by-play. "No, Carter didn't mean it: totally an accident. Anabel is over-reacting." We can count on Sam. He's a "good kid."

But one day someone his age is going to complain and the others will nod in agreement because he's been refusing to push boundaries and test limits and partake of the thrill of getting away with something he shouldn't be doing. And then what will he do? Will he redraw his lines to protect his friendships? Or will he alienate himself and wait out his peers? I worry only because I remember "Square Ger," the boy who wouldn't stop tattling. He played alone at recess.

Me? I didn't do the things most of my friends did as they moved through their teens—never snuck out the window in a toga, drank out of my parents' liquour cabinet, pretended I was at a sleepover at so-and-so's when I was actually at a toga party. Drunk. But I stopped telling on the people who were. If there was no clear and present danger, it wasn't my beeswax. And somehow that worked for me. I was a good girl, but not a Goody Two Shoes. It's a fine line.

Sam hasn't had to walk it yet. I hope he's as strong as he seems to be when that day comes.